


Rubber Duckies

by thewritingotter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathtubs, Castiel in the Bunker, Heavy Petting, Kevin's Alive, M/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Rubber Ducks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingotter/pseuds/thewritingotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their rubber duckies are disappearing one by one, and Dean's out to suss out the thief. If only he wasn't so easily distracted...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubber Duckies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misseditallagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misseditallagain/gifts).



In hindsight, really, Dean should have seen all the signs pointing to this.

\--- 

Sam had picked up the first duck as a joke, Dean remembers, a sort of mocking incentive for Cas to _please, please, take a bath, Cas, you smell like rotten feet_. It’s the brightest, most offensive yellow with a less saturated orange for the bill, and it had perched proudly on the rim of their bathtub for days, staring at and judging Dean with its creepy, beady little eyes for daring to jerk-off in its tiled throne room. 

Dean hadn’t paid it any mind though; he couldn’t really, not with a saran-wrapped vintage edition of Busty Asian Beauties number zero-seven on one hand, his dick on the other, and a copy of some trashy gossip rag that may or may not have had Karl Urban on the cover over his lap. Really, it was all about balance.

And then one day, the duck was gone. Dean had noticed its absence in passing—drunk out of his mind and leaning against the porcelain god, of all times—but _that_ had been pushed easily from his mind. Ducks were inconsequential next to angels and demons and kings and knights of hell. 

He _did_ note that Cas smelled less like blue cheese the next day. He knew this because he may or may not have dipped his head a little into the curve of Cas’s neck when he _accidentally_ knocked and tangled into him.

The second duck had moose antlers—that one was Dean’s favourite. He hadn’t been able to resist slipping it into his jacket after he had smoothly saved the hot manager of a Dollarama from a ridiculously cheap ghost (he didn’t like that everything was a dollar _plus tax_. Burning his bones had been the most satisfying thing Dean had done since Cas spilled some hoodoo spell mixture thing all over Karl Urban handsome pixels. Dean may or may not have mourned it later as he’d sat listlessly on the toilet). He’d taken great pleasure at the way Sam’s left eye ticked whenever his little brother glimpsed the ugly little thing and the way the corners of his lips tightened into a firm scowl. Once or twice Dean’d thought that his own shit-eating grin and the _SAMMY_ penned on the duck’s wing with a Sharpie may have cause the annoyance more than the antlers did, but then Dean hadn’t cared enough to examine that line of thought.

A week or so after Dean had shoplifted it, it disappeared, Sam’s face relaxed from its constipated phase, and Dean sought for other ways to play with his brother. _All work and no play make Sam a dull boy_ had always been his motto.

Steadily, Cas started losing the snowy flakes of dandruff he’d somehow accumulated shortly after becoming human. Dean may or may not have run his fingers through Cas’s hair once (or twice) when his friend fell asleep over some stupidly boring book about the magical properties of pig’s blood.

The third duck was dark purple with little black horns and no one owned up to it, but Dean’s pretty sure that one had come from Kevin. He’d seen the little twerp trying to hide a malicious little smirk when Dean had screeched (manfully) upon seeing the evil thing glaring at him from the rim of the tub. 

It had quickly disappeared the next day, (Dean had procured another picture of the good Doctor McCoy and while he was not above jerking-off with the demon duck around, he was extremely grateful for whoever tossed it out before he could), and Dean had spent a great portion of the day _tending to himself_ in the bathroom.

Sam had wondered aloud where the nasty ducks could be, but before Dean could muse on that as well, Cas had wormed between them to reach up to the cupboards for his box of mismatched tea. Dean may or may not have noticed the flash of tanned skin above Cas’s belt and the sweet, kind of flowery scent that follows him now.

\---

Dean clears his throat, trying (and failing oh so miserably), to keep his eyes from wandering across the wide expanse of Cas’s very naked chest.

“So you, uh, and,” he gestures at the three toys floating on the soapy water with a rolled up picture of his favourite doctor, “you really took to them like a duck to water, huh?” He would have flinched under Cas’s hard stare if not for the bubble ‘stache his friend had going on.

“And I see you have,” Cas glares at Dean’s picture, “taken to this Karl Urban like a duck to water as well.”

Dean laughs. Hey, if he’s man enough to admit that he still has a picture of the great Captain Kirk (that he had torn from some nerdy magazine when he was ten) tucked into his wallet, then he’s man enough to admit that he’d enjoyed many an orgasm with Captain Kirk’s friend on hand. “You’re terrible.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow at him. The effect is lost when he continues splashing around and playing with his pretty little bubbles, the ducks bobbing cheerfully around him. “I’m bathing, Dean,” Cas reminds him. “May I please have some privacy?”

“I don’t know, man,” Dean says as he leans against the open door, “I mean Beady and Sammy,” he nods at the ducks, “they’re cool, but Horny there is creepily obsessed with your nipples.”

Cas, shameless asshole that he is, points out, “As you are.”

Dean shrugs nonchalantly even as red floods his cheeks. “Yeah, well, I’m human, and more equipped to handle any and all of your needs.” He _did not_ just say that.

His friend turns his pointy nose up at him, eyebrows arched almost challengingly. “ _I_ am more than capable of handling _my_ needs, Dean.”

“I don’t know, man, my dick’s longer than your fingers.” _Hedidnotjustsaythat_. Dean clears his throat again, bowing his head and fiddling with the picture. “So, uh, what’s with the ducks?” Dean makes the mistake of looking back up and oh god, Cas is staring at his fingers and back at Dean as if he’s trying to gauge how truthful Dean’s previous statement was.

“I enjoy them,” Cas says.

“Your fingers?” Dean asks incredulously.

Cas squints at him confusedly. “No,” he replies, dragging the syllable out. “The ducks.”

“Right, the ducks.” He places the picture strategically over his crotch. Heh, Karl Urban’s face is facing his crotch.

“I enjoy their company immensely,” Cas continues. “And they’re very… cute.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that. “Cute?”

Cas nods. “And squicky.” He squeezes Horny and a horrible bleating echoes around the bathroom.

“I should really soak that thing in holy water,” Dean tells him when the ringing in his ears has stopped.

“I’ve done that already,” Cas says, as he wave-pushes Sammy against Horny. It reminds Dean too much of _his_ Sam and the demon-chick-who-must-not-be-named. 

“Smart man.”

“Thank you.” 

Dean smiles and busies himself with folding Karl Urban into a neat little square—because really, that’s the only thing he can do to keep himself from memorising the exact position and angle of that cute little freckle in relation to Cas’s nipple. “Well, uh,” he scrambles for the doorknob, “I’ll leave you to your bubble ba-“

“I don’t like bathing alone,” Cas says as if he’s continuing a conversation Dean isn’t aware he’s in. 

“Well, I’m sure the ducks make _great_ company,” Dean says, wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. Punches and kicks he can handle, verbal jibes he can return, but _serious_ talk without the immediate threat of death or the Apocalypse— _this_ makes him uncomfortable. “You know, I bet the water’s getting all grimy; I’ll go and let you shower all that shi-“

“I don’t like the silence,” Cas says, oblivious to Dean’s squirming, and he turns his stupid big bug-eyes at him imploringly, a move that Dean is positive Cas knows the hunter can not turn away from. 

“Oh, okay, yeah, I guess we’re doing this.” He sighs, trudging heavily towards the toilet and sitting on it with its lid down. He knew he’d end up here before the day ends, but not like this. He mutters quick apologies to his neglected dick and to Karl Urban for his time, leaving the picture on the counter. He leans towards the tub, hands clasped between his legs. “What’s up, Cas?” Cas looks up at him, the bubble ‘stache looking twice as ridiculous as a small mischievous smile spreads on his lips, and Dean holds a hand up to stop him. “And don’t you go sayin’,” he drops his voice into Castiel’s gravely register, “ _the ceiling, Dean_ , because that joke wasn’t funny coming from Sam, and it sure as hell isn’t funny coming from you.”

Cas pouted, splashing around the tub petulantly with Beady. Poor duck looks like it’s asking Dean for help. “You laughed the first time I said it,” he murmurs.

Dean had only laughed because Cas looked way too pleased with himself, but he doesn’t tell him that. “Okay, so it was funny _once_. Stop deflecting, man.”

“I wasn’t deflecting, you were,” Cas says. He wipes limp bubbles off his face, the teasing edge on his lips dropping, and he looks away, gathering the ducks in his arms, and Dean _knows_ this isn’t Cas complaining about his knees aching when it’s cold or his arm falling asleep or the irritating way cotton catches on some of the cuts he’d gotten on a wendigo hunt; this is nightmares and regrets and missed opportunities—all things Dean has always been reluctant to talk about.

Still... He nudges Cas’s shoulder with the barest touch of his knuckles. “Cas.”

“I don’t mind being alone,” Cas amends his earlier sentence as he separates Beady from the rest of the group, a finger patting its head as it bobs cheerfully on the water. “Before I came down to raise you from hell-“

“Perdition,” Dean corrects cheekily. “You gotta say it, man. For the babies.” He gestures at the ducks.

Cas smiles despite himself. “Perdition. Before I came down and raised you from perdition, I was stationed to watch over the Earth. I’ve been called down for battles here and there, but they were short and scattered. I spent most of my time watching humans grow, spreading across the Earth and building civilizations more sophisticated than the angels thought they were capable of. It was marvellous.”

“I bet we were all you raved about with the other angels by the water cooler, eh?”

“There was no water cooler or other angels; there was only me.”

Dean eyes him sympathetically. “Musta gotten really lonely, huh?”

“Not really, no.” He smiles at Dean’s surprised expression. “Angel radio, Dean.”

“Right.”

“I could hear my brothers and sisters chattering amongst themselves all the time,” Cas continues. “And there always were prayers from Earth. They grew more sparse as the years got on, but they were always there.” He lets Sammy and Horny float closer to Beady. “It was difficult to feel lonely, not when I felt so connected to everyone—to the host, to the humans I watched.” He smiles. “I miss that.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “So you, uh, you don’t like being human…?”

“I don’t mind it,” Cas replies quickly. “Of course I miss the ability to smite demons with the palm of my hand and these human… aches are all very annoying.”

Dean scoffs. “You’re tellin’ me.”

“But I like tasting food as it’s meant to be, or feeling things as humans ought to. Being an angel is like this,” Cas flounders a bit, the ducks floating away from him in waves as he flaps his hands for an adequate word, “ _brightness_ that can dull even the most saturated colours. Humanity has a vibrancy that I enjoy.”

“Wait until you’ve had a _really_ good orgasm,” Dean says excitedly. “Everything builds and builds and then just-“ he pauses as he realizes he’s been pumping air above his dick since he’d opened his mouth. He laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It, um, feels really nice.”

Cas’s eye darts towards the folded picture and then back at Dean. “Is Karl Urban a requirement for a good orgasm?”

Dean laughs at Cas’s too-wide stare. “Hey, whatever gets you off, man.” He leans closer to Cas. “You know, this still doesn’t explain the ducks.”

Cas looks away from him again, beckoning at the ducks. Dean found it almost creepy how quickly they all swam towards him. Huh, Castiel the rubber ducky whisperer. “I understand being silent in the library,” he continues, “or when everyone’s asleep. I understand the concept of being alone, centering yourself or just having time to yourself. But I don’t like loneliness… I guess I never will.

“In the library, there’s always the sound of turning pages and Kevin’s mumbles and Sam’s quiet flatulence.” Dean snorts at that. “And your incessant squirming. At night, I can hear the katydids and Kevin’s deafening snores. And Sam- he talks a lot in his sleep. It makes me feel…” he trails off as he pets his ducks.

“But bathing?” Dean prods.

“It’s too silent here,” Cas says. “Although I’m fine with being alone, this—the echoes, the four walls, the way it blocks _everything_ —it makes my loneliness seem so big and looming and inescapable.” The ducks gather in his chest and he smiles at them fondly. “Having something to play with helps; something to keep me company. And they’re squicky.” He squeezes Beady and it lets out a surprisingly cute peep.

“Of course they are.” Dean reaches over and squeezes Sammy, and it lets out a watery little fart. “Hah, figures.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and when Dean looks up, he suddenly realizes just how much he maybe kind of miscalculated the distance from his face to Cas’s from this angle. If he wants to—and he really, really does—he can just turn a little bit and lick his way from Cas’s chin to the bolt of his jaw. 

Whether Cas wants what Dean wants is something else entirely though.

He laughs awkwardly as he clumsily tries to back away, water sloshing over the sides of the tub as his hands trip and fall into it (he may or may not have glanced Cas’s balls. For all he knows, his friend could’ve had another rubber ducky hidden down there). “Well, you know,” he says as nonchalantly as he can when he straightens, soap suds dripping down his arms and totally ruining the banging antique rug they’d found in one of the storage rooms, “we could keep you company if you’d ask. Sammy or Kevin-“

“Or you.”

“Yeah, or me.”

Apparently that’s all the permission Cas needs. He smiles widely and if Dean had paid attention to him, he would’ve noticed the predatory curve of Cas’s lips and the dangerous way his friend’s fingers are clawed towards him. As it is, all he sees are Cas’s nipples drawing closer, and before he knew it, he’s pulled from the porcelain throne and into the tub, soapy water and bubbles splashing everywhere as he splutters and struggles to keep his head above water and his legs below him, Cas’s huffing laughter a mocking soundtrack to his plight.

Finally, he rights himself, straddling Cas’s knees as his hands lock around his wrists, and the ducks bob cheerfully between them. “You _asshole_ ,” Dean squeezes from soapy lips. 

Cas, the great big dick that he is, _giggles_ , the sound low, and if Dean’s being totally honest with himself, kind of adorable. “You said you’d keep me company,” he says when his laughter dies down into tiny hiccups. 

“Not like this, jackass,” Dean grouches, even as he reluctantly extricates himself from Cas.

Cas’s hand wraps around his shoulder and he pulls the taller man down, kissing him softly on the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for keeping me company, Dean,” he whispers in his ear, and he pushes Dean back before the hunter can even do _something_ about this, the teasing edge back on his lips.

Really, Dean can’t turn down a challenge if ever he sees one. He leans down and presses his lips firmly against Cas’s, and when Cas gasps, Dean sees it fit to lick into his mouth, tasting green tea and chocolate and peanut butter on his friend’s tongue. It isn’t heady or overwhelming like the smoky and whiskey-shot kisses he’d shared with some bar patrons, but it is just as ridiculously hot, and Cas’s soft moans and pants just add to it.

His hands skim down Cas’s side, tracing the little freckle before pinching his nipples a bit too hard, and if Dean ever needed any confirmation that Cas is enjoying this as much as he is, the way Cas arches into that and sort of _opens_ under Dean’s touch is the biggest indication that yes, Cas likes getting his nipples played with. Dean files that golden piece of information away for later.

“Dean,” Cas moans against his hair as Dean starts to kiss his way down his jaw and to his neck, his friend’s hands gripping his back tightly. 

Dean finally gets his hand around Cas’s dick—he’s definitely not hiding a rubber ducky down there—and he strokes it, pleased to get it so hard so fast. He lets go of him momentarily to unbutton and zip down, kissing Cas again when he keens at the loss. He really shouldn’t but he can’t help pulling his dick a few times, indulging it with what it’s been craving since he opened the door to a naked Cas playing with his ducks and bubbles.

Cas tugs him down to kiss him again only to push him back up when Dean tries to reciprocate, a naughty smile on his lips. He dodges Dean’s lips when the taller man leans closer again, wriggling from underneath him ungracefully so he’s now sat on the rim of the tub.

“Seriously?” Dean pants when Cas reaches for a fluffy towel and wraps it around him, all that delicious package now hidden from Dean’s eyes.

Cas kisses him almost shyly on his cheek, which, hah, when has Cas ever been shy about anything? “Not here.”

Dean’s cock is straining and covered in bubbles, and he knows that he can totally get off right now, but he knows that if he plays his cards right, he can get Cas and him to a really great place. Still, he replies with a very eloquent and very annoyed, “What?”

Cas has the _audacity_ to laugh at that. “My bedroom’s a few doors from here. I don’t want to do it here in front of the babies.”

Dean may or may not have foregone listening to Cas in favour of rubbing his dick against Cas’s soapy legs. “What?”

Cas kisses his ear and whispers, “I think I’d really like to get you on my bed, Dean.” Dean had never shot out of a bath so fast.

He studiously ignores Kevin’s slack jawed face when they dart through the hall half-naked, and in Dean’s case, with his dick out for the world to see. Really, the kid’s seen worse on the lot of them.

\---

It turns out, Dean didn’t need Karl Urban after all to get a _really_ good orgasm.


End file.
